


And They Were Tent Buddies

by cryingcryptids (tatterwitch)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Camping, F/M, Fingering, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 09:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18588523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/cryingcryptids
Summary: “We’re all pretty full up. Hunk and I are sharing and Pidge and Lance took up the entire family-sized tent.” Keith slants a look over the fire to you and your whole stomach flips like it’s lost gravity. “Maybe Shiro could bunk with you?”Every fiber of your being is at war with itself as you force yourself to nod.“Sure.”Shiro offers you a smile that’s lopsided. It’s boyishly charming. The warmth that fills the bottom of your belly has nothing to do with the fading effects of the alcohol you’d consumed.He nods, “Lead the way.”





	And They Were Tent Buddies

“The house was invented for a reason,” Pidge mutters as she fights with the skein of rope.  
  


“I’m with Pidge on this one.” Lance grimaces at the dirt on his knees as he stands and accepts the rope from Pidge. “I was promised a vacation.”  
  


A breeze makes the tarps and canopies of the tents rustle and ripple. Out in the fields, tall grass moves in green-gold waves. The sky is clear of clouds. The blue almost takes your breath away.  
  


Crickets and birds sing, unseen, in the tall grass and trees. Smoke curls up from the ring of lopsided and soot-stained stones a few yards away. The checkered tablecloth looks so cheery as its edges flutter in the breeze.  
  


Keith peers out from his already-erected tent as he rolls out his sleeping bag. A few tendrils of dark hair have fallen from their messy tail to frame his cheeks.  
  


“Camping is fun.” Keith settles on his knees for a moment, watching the treetops sway.  
  


Lance snorts. “Spas are fun. Water-parks are fun. Cruises are fun. Camping is…”  
  


“Barbaric?” Pidge offers.  
  


Lance points at her enthusiastically. “Exactly! Thank you, Pidge.”  
  


Hunk looks up from where he’s starfished over the tent’s interior floor. He shifts a little with a sigh.  
  


“Keith was right. We should’ve set up and then ate. I’m way too full to be doing anything right now.”  
  


“Your tent is already done! Keith did all the work!” Lance huffs indignantly.  
  


Hunk peeks through the half-set-up tent, “Hey, wouldja look at that? Keith, buddy, good job.”  
  


“Thanks,” Keith’s voice is dry as he works on zipping up the mesh windows of his and Hunk’s tent.  
  


You push in the final stake to secure your own tent with the heel of your boot. The tarp overtop is an ugly, faded Garrison-issued green. There are a few holes with singed edges from stray sparks around the fringes.  
  


“Someone’s coming up the road,” Keith climbs free of the tent and shades his eyes as he stares out toward the treeline.  
  


Lance mutters something about Galran senses and pushes a tent-stake into the ground.  
  


A dark-colored rover appears between the break in the trees. Its windows are tinted too dark to see the driver but the line of Keith’s shoulders relaxes. He makes his way toward the edge of the campsite and watches the rover slowly stop and park beside your own rover.  
  


The door opens. A pair of boots land firmly on the dirt and grass. Mirrored aviator shades catch the fading sunlight. Pale hair flutters in the summer breeze. Metal fingers curl around the thick strap of a Garrison-issued duffel bag. Broad shoulders fill out a sun-faded leather jacket.  
  


Your insides swoop as heat climbs up the back of your neck and settles in your cheeks.  
  


“Shiro,” Keith leans into the hug Shiro offers. “Glad you could make it.”  
  


Shiro pulls back just in time to catch the blur of green, khaki, and copper that is Pidge.  
  


“Hey, Pidge.”  
  


“I thought that you couldn’t get the weekend off?” Pidge drills her knuckles into Shiro’s arm playfully.  
  


“Iverson pulled some strings for me.”  
  


Lance and Hunk wander over and greet Shiro. You look on, trying to tamp down on the way your insides seem so intent on doing barrel-rolls. You almost wish that you hadn’t come along. Missing out on seeing the others would have hurt but it would’ve saved you what could only end in embarrassment.  
  


Just when you’re thinking about ducking into your tent, Shiro’s head lifts and he smiles.  
  


“Hey.” His eyes aren’t visible through the mirroring of his shades and you’re absurdly thankful. “Heard you got promoted to Captain of the Prometheus. Congratulations.”  
  


You huff a little, “Thanks. I’m still adjusting. It’s...A little different than what I’m used to.”  
  


“It’s good to know that Atlas’ sister ship has you at the helm, though. The Garrison couldn’t have picked anyone better.”  
  


Pride and warmth make the swooping of your insides double.  
  


Shiro adjusts his grip on his bag and looks like he wants to say something more but thinks better.  
  


Golden light casts long shadows over the field as the sun finally sinks behind the trees.  
  


“Good thing we got everything set up.” Pidge squints at the sky. “It would’ve sucked to have to set up in the dark.”  
  


“No kidding,” Hunk groans before perking up. “Hey. Sundown. You guys know what that means?”  
  


Lance swats at something. “That the mosquitoes are out?”  
  


“No,” Hunk frowns. “Well, yes. But not what I meant.”  
  


“Campfire.” Keith ducks into his tent and retrieves a worn, sun-faded hoodie.  
  


Hunk shoots him finger-guns. “Bingo. S’mores. Hot chocolate-”  
  


“We already have a campfire.” Pidge points out.  
  


Hunk gives her a look. “Have you ever been camping before?”  
  


“I prefer to admire nature from indoors.”  
  


Shiro laughs and you have to look away to clear your thoughts. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see him drop his bag onto the picnic table and drag a camp-chair toward the fire. He drops into the chair with a contented noise.  
  


Lance drags his lounge-chair over and perches at the end, warming his hands over the low flames.  
  


Embers scatter when Keith sets a few new logs in the ring of stones. Tiny flames catch and then lick over the bottoms of the dry wood.  
  


Ice rattles against plastic as Hunk carries a cooler over and sets it down a little carelessly. He cracks it open with a crooked smile. The firelight makes the stubble riding his cheeks and chin that much more apparent.  
  


“Who wants a beer? I’ve got nunvil and a selection of wine-coolers, too.”  
  


Shiro opens his mouth before shrugging and pulling his shades off. The metal arms click together softly as he tucks them into the collar of his shirt. The fading sun makes his eyes seem silver.  
  


You drag your own chair across from him and happily accept the pouch of nunvil Hunk offers you. The potent alcohol burns fiercely on the way down. Goosebumps raise the hair on your arms and race down your spine.  
  


In no time at all, the sun sets and it's only the fire that casts light over the tiny circle of field everyone inhabits.  
  


Conversation flows easily around the ring of company and you let yourself bob in the lazy current of it.  
  


Your fingers are sticky with marshmallow and melted chocolate as you roll them around the rim of your bottle. Between the fire and the alcohol, the creeping chill of the night air has nothing on you.  
  


Stars wink and glimmer overhead and you lose yourself in them.  
  


At least until Hunk yawns, stretches, and almost tips his chair over.  
  


Laughter ripples around the circle as Hunk rights himself and dusts the graham cracker crumbs from his hands.  
  


“Well, I’m beat. I’m gonna turn in for the night.”  
  


Lance nods and drags his lounge chair back beside his and Pidge’s tent.  
  


“Me, too, buddy. I’ve gotta get my beauty rest in.”  
  


Pidge grunts something resembling ‘goodnight’ and scuffs off after Lance.  
  


Firelight flickers prettily in the imperfections of the glass bottle between your hands.  
  


Keith stands and stretches along with Shiro. You try to ignore the way the hem of Shiro’s shirt and jacket rise with the movement and reveal a strip of taut tan skin and a dusting of dark hair.  
  


“Where do you want me?” Shiro picks his bag back up off the picnic table as Keith banks the fire.  
  


“We’re all pretty full up. Hunk and I are sharing and Pidge and Lance took up the entire family-sized tent.” Keith slants a look over the fire to you and your whole stomach flips like it’s lost gravity. “Maybe Shiro could bunk with you?”  
  


Every fiber of your being is at war with itself as you force yourself to nod.  
  


“Sure.”  
  


Shiro offers you a smile that’s lopsided. It’s boyishly charming. The warmth that fills the bottom of your belly has nothing to do with the fading effects of the alcohol you’d consumed.  
  


He nods, “Lead the way.”  
  


You drag your chair underneath the picnic table and stow your empty bottle in the recycling bin Hunk left out.  
  


The breeze has a decidedly cooler edge now that it’s night. The alcohol and fire had done a fair job in staving the chill off but without the two you can feel the cold starting to seep under your clothes.  
  


Your tent is almost comically small compared to the others. It’s clearly meant only for the necessity known as sleep. Not that you planned on doing anything else inside of it. But now that your mind had come up with the thought, it was hard to dispel.  
  


“This is it,” You reach in and pull your pack from the interior. “I’ll change in my rover. You can set up and stuff while I’m gone. I’ll knock or something when I come back.”  
  


Shiro nods again and you hastily make your way over to your rover. The locks hinge free at a press of the keys on your belt. You climb in and make sure the lights go out before you start to change. It’s a little difficult, but you manage.  
  


It’s a whole lot colder without the insulation of your jeans, socks, and sweatshirt. You hesitate, biting at the edge of your thumbnail. Usually, you’d sleep in just a t-shirt and flannel shorts but between the current company and the growing cold…  
  


You pull your sweatshirt back over your head and jam your socks back on before loosely lacing your boots on to make the trek back to the tent.  
  


The cold wind cuts right through your clothing and makes you shiver. You hesitate outside the tent before tapping against the front-most flap.  
  


“Decent,” Shiro calls out from within.  
  


You duck inside, kicking your boots off and tucking them by the door.  
  


Shiro had found your lantern. The small thing casts dim blue light over the interior of the tent. It makes him seem as though he’s cast entirely from silver and marble.  
  


You tear your gaze away and slip into your sleeping bag. The zipper catches every time you shiver. You flip onto your side, facing away from the man you’d crushed on since your early Garrison days, and bury your face into the sleeping bag’s built-in pillow.  
  


There’s a moment of quiet.  
  


The lantern light fills the tent and makes the olive-green fabric look passably pretty. Wind makes the slack material flap and ripple. The cold reaches its fingers underneath the edges of the tent and digs them past the insulation of your sleeping bag. It’s harder to hide the shivering when you’re still and quiet.  
  


And Shiro’s always been perceptive.  
  


“You’re shivering.”  
  


His sleeping bag rustles and your curl up in an effort to keep warm.  
  


“I’ll warm up in a few ticks.” It’d be easier to convince him if your voice didn’t shake.  
  


Another moment passes. And another. Your shivering doesn’t lessen.  
  


“Hey,” A warm hand finds your shoulder.  
  


You peek over the edge of your sleeping bag, grimacing at the wash of cold air over your skin.  
  


Shiro’s brow is furrowed. His fingers tense before lifting away.  
  


“Here, zip your bag up with mine. We can share body heat.”  
  


You almost bite your tongue. “I’m fine.”  
  


The shivering makes your words stutter, undercutting your affirmation.  
  


“You’re going to catch a cold or-” Shiro presses, scooting his own sleeping bag closer to yours.  
  


“Fine. Okay.” You tug down the zipper of your bag from the inside and push back the flap.  
  


Cold air seeps into the space made and regret immediately manifests, strengthening the wracking shivers. Metal fingers pinch the tongue of the zipper and make quick work of sealing the two bags together.  
  


Even when Shiro lifts an edge open and beckons you to join him, you hesitate. Maybe you could just keep to one side. You don’t trust yourself to keep any reaction you might give to yourself, otherwise.  
  


The insulated fabric is already warm as you slide inside. Cool metal presses against the backs of your legs as you curl up at the seam of the joined bags. You’re still shivering. It makes the whole bundle of insulated cloth tremble.  
  


“Here.”  
  


It’s all the warning you have before Shiro’s hands curl around your arms and urge you closer. The metal of his prosthesis  is surprisingly warm as it flattens against your back. You can feel each tiny whir and hum as it works in harmony with his mind and nerves. His chest is firm and warm beneath your hands and cheek.  
  


Shiro hisses softly before wrapping a palm over your fingers.  
  


“Your hands are freezing.”  
  


You try and squash the thrill that moves through at the realization that both of your hands are dwarfed by just one of his.  
  


The fabric of his tank top is thin. Every breath makes his chest rise and fall against your cheek. The faintest hint of soap and cologne cling to his skin. You fight the urge to press your nose closer and instead let your toes nudge against his calves. He jumps and murmurs something about them being cold, too, but drapes one leg over them nonetheless.  
  


Slowly, you feel yourself warm. The shaking rigidity of your limbs fades as Shiro holds you close.  
  


You’re absurdly grateful that he’d turned the lantern to its lowest setting. The dim blue light barely infiltrates past your closed eyes and hopefully keeps your creeping blush from showing.  
  


The hand on your back shifts minutely. Shiro’s chest rises in a deep breath.  
  


“Can I ask you something?”  
  


His voice is quiet and low. It vibrates against your cheek pleasantly before you steel yourself and glance up. The shadows his lashes cast are long.  
  


“Yeah, sure.”  
  


“Do I intimidate you? I know that sometimes I can be. Intimidating, that is. It’s not my intention. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel uncomfortable or-”  
  


“No. Of course not. I mean, maybe I would be if I didn’t know you. Why do you ask?”  
  


Shiro shifts a little. His prosthesis whirs quietly as his palm shifts on your back. The weight of it lifts a bit and you almost lean after it.  
  


“You’re always so….Guarded around me. Quiet. I- You always seemed to be more comfortable with the others. I just….Wondered if I’d ever done or said something to make you feel that way.”  
  


The warmth in your face is firmly settled in. “No. It’s nothing like that.”  
  


“Oh,” There’s a beat of silence and then Shiro glances down at you, brow furrowed. “Can I ask why, then?”  
  


You squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm your racing heart.  
  


“It’s dumb. Embarrassing.”  
  


“Nothing about you is dumb or embarrassing.”  
  


You snort a little.  
  


“Except maybe that sound.” Shiro teases.  
  


You push at his chest before sighing. “I….Had a crush on you.”  
  


Shiro goes still. You feel his breathing hitch for a second.  
  


“Oh. _Oh_ .”  
  


This is, all at once, your wildest dream and worst nightmare. You clear your throat and try to put some distance between the two of you. Warm metal fingers find your back again.  
  


Shiro’s eyes are dark and wide in the lantern’s light. “I never thought…”  
  


The hand curled around your palms twitches, tightens.  
  


You shrug, the hood of your sweatshirt rustling against the lining of the sleeping bag.  
  


“Yeah, well. Now you know. I was never….I’m not intimidated by you or anything. Well. I guess you can be very….Commanding, but no. I was always too scared that you’d find out and laugh at me. Or that it would make you uncomfortable. And, besides,” You huff a little. “I knew that it was unrequited so there was no use in bothering you with it. Like I said, it’s dumb.”  
  


The fingers on your back tighten in the fabric there.  
  


“It’s not dumb. And it’s….It’s not unrequited.”  
  


Had you fallen asleep? Surely, because there was no way, in any dimension or reality, that Takashi Shirogane had just said that your crush was matched.  
  


There was no way.  
  


“What?” It’s the only thing that falls from your mouth, breathless and a little stunned.  
  


In the blue-tinted light of the lantern, you watch Shiro’s cheeks bloom with color.  
  


“I’ve….Felt something for you for years. It only grew the longer I spent with you. You’re kind, smart, funny. Beautiful.” He looks down, fingers loosening from around your hands and lifting with infinite care.  
  


The backs brush across your cheek and tuck a lock of hair back from your face.  
  


“You never said anything.” You manage to get out, leaning into the touch.  
  


Shiro’s shoulders lift and he looks so boyishly bashful in that moment that your heart squeezes tight in your chest.  
  


“You always seemed so nervous around me. I thought that it meant that you were intimidated. Or that you saw me only as a commanding officer.”  
  


You laugh a little, still high off the fact that this is real. That Shiro feels the same way you feel about him.  
  


The fingers on your cheek dip down to skim your jaw. The swooping, rolling sensation in your belly intensifies wildly.  
  


“I’d really like to kiss you, if that’s alright?”  
  


You want to laugh at his politeness but swallow it down in favor of nodding.  
  


His thumb traces beneath the curve of your lower lip as he shuffles. The broad outline of his shadow spreads over the walls of the tent. Warm breath puffs over your cheeks as his nose bumps against yours.  
  


Warm. Soft. His mouth finds yours in the dim blue light.  
  


The hand on your back presses you closer as he sighs against your lips. It’s chaste and sweet and you chase it when he pulls back.  
  


His mouth curls into a contagious smile. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”  
  


“Yeah?” You shuffle a little closer and let your fingers tangle in the collar of his shirt.  
  


Those long dark lashes fall low. Plush pink lips part as Shiro dips his head again.  
  


This kiss is far warmer. Heat makes your head feel light. Shiro’s mouth coaxes your own to open and you can’t help the gasp you let out when he sweeps his tongue just inside your lower lip. The hand on your jaw pushes back into your hair, fingers easily cradling the back of your head and angling you just how he wants.  
  


Shiro groans quietly into the kiss when you press yourself closer.  
  


When he pulls back to catch his breath, his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. His lips are swollen and shine in the lantern-light.  
  


“Can I-” He swallows, lashes fluttering. “Can I touch you?”  
  


You nod and lean up for another kiss.  
  


Metal fingers skim down your spine and dabble at the stripe of skin bared by your hoodie as it’s ridden up.  
  


Shiro uses his free hand to hitch one of your thighs over his hip. He rolls his body forward at the same time and hums into your kiss.  
  


The planes of his chest and belly are firm and warm beneath your hands as you explore. He lets out a breathy little noise when your thumb passes over his nipple and you file that away for another time.  
  


Shiro retaliates by slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your hoodie and leisurely pushing the well-worn fabric up. There are calluses on his palm and fingers. The rougher skin drags over your trembling belly tentatively. Knuckles skim the undersides of your chest before fingers cup.  
  


You break away from the kiss to gasp as Shiro thumbs your nipple. His breath fans over your cheeks, warm and heavy.  
  


“Soft,” He murmurs, voice husky.  
  


You whine and arch when he pinches gently. His lips curve against your neck.  
  


“Sensitive.”  
  


You can’t summon a reply and instead push your hand lower. The planes of his belly tremble and hollow under your touch. His shirt’s rucked up, exposing a stretch of warm skin below his navel. Crisp hair tickles your fingertips. The elastic of his sweatpants catches on your knuckles.  
  


Your nerve falters.  
  


Shiro’s breath is unsteady against your jaw as he whispers your name. “Y-You can touch me. Please. _Oh-_ ”  
  


You push your fingers through wiry curls and feel him out. His cock settles against your palm, hot and heavy and thick. It twitches when you drag your hand down the length slowly. Wetness smears under your fingertips.  
  


“Show me how?”  
  


Shiro nods jerkily at your request. His hand disappears from beneath your hoodie and shoves at his own sweatpants. The soft material quickly vanishes with a few kicks, balling somewhere at the foot of the sleeping bags. He pushes his tank top up and then gently covers your hand with his own.  
  


His cheeks are dark. His breath whistles a little when he guides you into a rhythm.  
  


“I-I’ll get wetter, mhmmn,” Shiro groans when he causes your palm to twist around the head. “You can go f-faster then. If you want.”  
  


Another bead of sticky wetness spreads across your fingers.  
  


“Can I- Can I touch you? I really want to touch you.” Shiro’s hand falls from overtop yours and finds the edge of your shorts.  
  


“Please.”  
  


The angle is awkward but you can’t bring yourself to care when Shiro’s fingers slide between your legs. He follows the seam of you with just a fingertip. The touch is light but enough to make you squirm.  
  


The pad of a finger presses as it explores and a heady groan rumbles in Shiro’s chest when your fist tightens around him. Shiro’s finger presses in and slips through your wetness. That earns you another rumbling noise.  
  


“You’re so _wet_.”  
  


It makes you squirm again.  
  


Shiro pulls his fingertip up and finds your clit with a kind of single-minded intensity that has the breath in your lungs catching fire. You can’t help the pitchy noise that leaves your mouth.  
  


Shiro swallows it with another kiss as your hand loses rhythm. His finger dips and presses in.  
  


The tent shudders in the wind as the two of you shake beneath the joined sleeping bags. The lantern light flickers slightly, batteries threatening to give out.  
  


Shiro’s cock pulses in your hand as he pants against your mouth. His hip bangs against your arm.  
  


Sweat makes the insulated fabric of the sleeping bags cling and whistle at every movement.  
  


Another finger sinks inside of you and you can’t help the half-choked noise that leaves your lips.  
  


The heel of Shiro’s palm grinds against your clit and makes you jolt.  
  


Shiro’s breath stutters in his chest and his whole body locks up before he shudders. Thick wetness seeps between your knuckles. His hand stills between your legs before his fingers crook and make your breath catch fire.  
  


The slick noises are muffled by the sleeping bags but make heat flare beneath your skin.  
  


Shiro mouths at the corner of your jaw and whispers your name, all hoarse and raw.  
  


The building heat snaps in your belly and Shiro muffles your noises with his lips. He works you through your orgasm and pulls his fingers free when you whimper from oversensitivity.  
  


Shiro shifts, pulling his tank top off and cleaning his belly before tossing it toward the end of the tent.  
  


He pulls you against his chest again and sighs into your hair.  
  


“What do you want to bet that the others have a betting pool on us?”  
  


You snort a little. “I guess we’ll find out in the morning.”


End file.
